


Aeternus

by starbuckmeggie



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Death, Episode: s07e17 Election Day Part II, F/M, deep thoughts, donna moss - Freeform, josh lyman - Freeform, musings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 21:18:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12661623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckmeggie/pseuds/starbuckmeggie
Summary: Musings on a day from hell. Post Election Day Part II





	Aeternus

I’m exhausted. Beyond exhausted, really. The last year of almost no sleep feels like it’s hitting me all at once. The trouble with that is that I’ve gone to a point past any sort of tired I’ve ever known. At this point, I’m so tired I don’t know if I can sleep.

There’s so much on my mind. Too much has happened in the last twenty-four hours. There’s no way to process any of it. 

We won the election. Leo died. These two things shouldn’t be tied together. What good is winning the election if Leo’s not here to be a part of it? How can I do this without him. How can Santo do it without Leo?

And still, I can’t entirely accept that Leo’s gone. I saw him earlier today. He looked fine. He was fine. How does a healthy man go from alive and well in the morning to dead by dinnertime?

I sigh, knowing that’s not entirely accurate. Leo wasn’t exactly the picture of health. True enough, he’d recovered nicely from the heat attack last year, but he was still on medication—I knew he would be for the rest of his life—and he was a covering alcoholic. He’d already done damage to his body that I guess he just couldn’t, ultimately, come back from.

All night, I kept expecting him to show up in the war room, smirking, always looking like he knew something the rest of the world didn’t, tough and grumpy on the outside, the world’s biggest softie on the in. He is—he was—a good man, honest and loyal, brilliant, and perfect for VP. Hell, he would have been a great president, but I don’t think he ever wanted that for himself. It was tough enough convincing him to be on the ticket at all. He was always sure his sordid past would drag down any election he was a part of, but I think the American public was smarter than we might have initially believed. They saw that a person could go through hell—put themselves through hell—and still be a decent human being, that a disease doesn’t define the rest of his life, at least no negatively. The people could that with President Bartlet—they knew about the MS and that he’d hidden it and still elected him. Leo would have been good for this country.

I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. I’ve already lost one parent, and while I wouldn’t go so far as to say he was exactly like a father to me, I suppose he did have those moments of fatherly affection. He was definitely family—part uncle, part big brother, with a dash of parental advice when the need arose. He was my mentor. He was my council. He made being on the road nonstop for the past few months bearable. No matter how much we disagreed, no matter how much we fought, I knew he always had my back.

I feel a puff of air hit my chest and an arm tighten around my stomach and look down. Donna’s blonde hair greets me, bright even in the dark hotel room. She’s the other thing that has made the past few months manageable, no matter how much I might have resister her at first. It was nice to have my friend back, above and beyond anything else. I knew I missed her when she wasn’t around, but it wasn’t until she was on the trail with us that I fully realized just how lost I was without her. Donna’s my right arm. Possibly the left one, too. She keeps me functioning.

She sighs again, shifting closer to me in her sleep, her right leg draping over my own. I run my fingers through her hair, still mostly in disbelief. This is something else that’s made the day surreal. Of all the things to happen in the last day or so, sleeping with Donna was not one that I expected. I figured I’d officially missed my chance with her. A woman offers you the key to her room and don’t get to it fast enough and then don’t make the effort to follow her…yeah, I figured I’d managed to fuck that up, too.

She’s patient, though. Far more patient than I deserve, though she was pretty good about cutting to the chase last night. There was no uncertainty or hesitancy with her. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her as confident. I’ve always thought she was beautiful but in that moment, as we sat side by side on that couch in the bar, she was mind-numbingly sexy. That may have een the first time I’ve let myself see her that way. I couldn’t before that. I knew that once I started down that path, all bets would be off.

But this…this was more than I bargained for. Sex with her went above and beyond anything I’d imagined. It was far better than any encounter up to that point.

Naturally, I panicked. I like to think I regrouped nicely, and at least I wasn’t dumb enough to pass up another chance with her this afternoon. But to have her here with me like this, after everything that’s happened today, is an unbelievable comfort.

It didn’t take much for us to fall back into our old pattern of her being my caretaker after she told me about Leo. She’s literally what kept me upright through the rest of the long, painful, amazing night, saying the right words at the right moment, squeezing my fingers to let me know that she was there if I needed her, even letting me actually break down in arms—more than once. She held me as I cried in Leo’s room earlier, and again in the shower not that long ago.

My mind is reeling—how can something so amazing be happening the same time as something so tragic? How can I feel so good and so bad at the same time? I want to be happy about Donna being here with me—I am happy—but it’s tempered by enormous guilt at being so overjoyed, followed by incredible sorrow.

This part would have made Leo happy. He certainly wouldn’t have wanted any of the hairy details, but I think that he would have gotten a kick out of me and Donna fumbling our way through this, on election day no less.

Her foot twitches a little, making her toes slide across my calf for a second, and I tighten the arm that’s draped over her side, my thumb stroking the soft skin of her back. Climbing naked into bed with her tonight, after everything that’s happened, is not what I was anticipating. But after standing in the shower together for close to an hour, and then the great pains she took to dry us off and make sure I was warm, she ushered me into bed, tucking me in before crawling in after me. In the complete opposite of last night, she turned to face me, pressing her body against my side, and wrapped her arms around me. I listened to her breathing softly in my ear, felt her lips against my temple, my neck, my shoulder, where ever she could reach to offer comfort. She never insulted either of us by telling me that everything would be all right, but she did whisper repeatedly that she was here. It didn’t take her long to drift off, her body, warm and heavy with sleep, doing its part to comfort me. In an odd way, I feel like she’s protecting me, thought that’s probably by design. Despite our distance over the last year, she still knows me better than anyone else. Always has, even from the beginning. Even if I never would have said being held in a dark hotel room was what I needed after the day’s events, Donna knew what I needed, same way she’s always known.

To be honest, though, and despite every horrible thing that’s happened today, I can safely assume that there’s very little that a naked Donna Moss in bed next to me wouldn’t cure, or at least make a million times better. I feel mildly piggish even thinking it, even now in my vaguely post-coital haze, she is fairly luminous. The air around her damn near glows, and she gives off that warm, protective vibe all the time. Having her pressed against me only exacerbates it.

Being in bed with her is oddly comfortable and natural, despite how simultaneously weird it is. I still can’t get over the fact that she’s allowing me to see her naked, allowing me to touch her and kiss her and do any number of items that have been on my fantasy list for some time…the fact that falling into bed with her feels normal is something else throwing my exhausted, over-tired brain into a tailspin.

She shifts suddenly, her eyes fluttering up at me for a few seconds—either she doesn’t register my presence or in her dream-state it’s not unusual to see me next to her—before she turns over to her other side, facing away from me. I hold my breath, waiting to see if she slides to the edge of the the bed, but she settles down quickly, her body relaxing once more. I waste no time turning onto my side, molding my body behind hers. My knees fold in behind where hers bend, my arm drapes over her waist, and I bury my face in her hair. She instantly melts into me, and I marvel once again that this is happening right now. We shouldn’t fit together so well, like two pieces of a puzzle…like two halves of a whole.

God, I _am_ tired. I don’t usually think sappy things like that, no matter how much I care about Donna. No matter how true it is.

Absently, I run my fingers over the delicate skin of her stomach, reveling in the casual intimacy of it. The muscles twitch beneath my fingertips, and I wonder if I’m tickling her. I’ve never known Donna to be ticklish…then again, I can’t say that I’ve spent time tickling her. Seems like that would have been inappropriate in a boss/assistant relationship. Probably would have fallen into the category of chasing her around the desk, and I find that sort of behavior is typically frowned upon. Rightfully so, but still…no tickling. I honestly can’t say it would have occurred to me to see if she was ticklish. Despite rampant rumors and alleged evidence to the contrary, I didn’t spend most of the last eight years blatantly lusting after my assistant. At least, I don’t think I did. I wasn’t constantly consumed with thoughts of throwing her down on my desk or pushing her against a wall and saying to hell with our careers. I feel like I had a regular amount of thoughts on the matter, thought mostly in wildly inappropriate dreams that would make it tough to look at her the next day.

Granted, the perspective of being apart for close to a year helps me realize that I might have been a little more publically smitten with Donna than I realized. There was nothing I would have admitted or acknowledged at the time, but casually interfering with her dates and trying like hell to make sure she was never really available to do anything social were probably huge red flags. In my defense, there were a lot of times when I actually needed her with me at work, and there were a lot of guys that weren’t worth her time, but still…red flags.

But I don’t really want to think about that part of our lives too much, at least not right now. I feel like I’m prone to introspection at this point in time, and the last thing I want to do is fall down the “what if” rabbit hole about my relationship—or lack there of—with Donna.

I nudge her hair out of my way with her nose and press my lips to her neck. I’m still in disbelief that little things like are allowed to happen, at least for the time being. Kissing her neck, holding her close, playing with her skin…it’s better than sex.

…Okay, no, it’s not. It’s great in its own way, and it’s wonderfully intimate, which is how things should be with Donna, but it sure as hell isn’t better than sex. Better than sex with some other people I’ve been with, sure, but definitely not better than sex with Donna. So far, that particular activity is going unmatched in the echelons of time and space. Seeing her naked was at the top of the chart for about a minute until she let me touch her. That quickly jumped above the visual alone. But sex, though…being inside of her, watching her move, hearing her moan and gasp, feeling her nails digging into my skin, her thighs holding onto my hips, watching her pale skin turn pink then red from exertion and arousal, feeling her muscles contract, watching her throw her head back, her long blonde hair framing her like a halo, the fine sheen of sweat that made her entire body shimmer…watching her come. Feeling her come. Making her come. 

That part…that part. Wow. 

Did that once and I knew I wanted to do that as often as possible. On average, as a very generic guy with an under-developed frontal lobe, at least when it comes women, making a woman orgasm is actually an amazing experience. It takes time to understand that, unfortunately, so we waste a lot of our sexual prime sticking it anywhere there’s a willing body, excited for ourselves and not much else, sometimes naively assuming it’s the same for the girl we’re with. The first time I actually did that to a woman it blew my mind. I immediately wanted to do it again to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, but I knew for sure that it was different than what I was doing before. I’ve made it my life goal to make it happen as often as possible. I’ve never understood those guys who don’t care if the woman they’re in bed with gets to come, too. Personally, makes me feel god-like. Seriously, there’s not much hotter in this world than watching a woman’s face and body go over the edge.

With it being Donna…I’ll never be the same. Seriously. I did a really good job of not spending too much time fantasizing about her when she worked for me, or even after she quit. It was easy to be pissed and try not to think about her. Once we kissed, though, all bets were off. My idiot brain unleashed holy hell on my libido and I’ve thought of little else in the interim. Any spare second has been devoted to reliving hat moment and what seems to be almost a decade’s worth of intense desire.

It’s made for a lot of cold showers.

The object of my scrutiny makes a noise and shifts again, adjusting herself a big though she remains the little spoon, and I take that moment to side my other arm under her body, wrapping it just above her breasts. Her head nestles right into the crook of my arm, like it was actually designed for her and her alone. I realize that my will probably go numb if we stay in this position too long, but I just can’t bring myself to care. The pins and needles sensation seems well-worth the price of admission.

She shifts again, just a little this time, her ass wiggling against my groin for just a moment before she relaxes again with a sigh. I wonder if she’s always a restless sleeper, or if this is because of the current situation. No matter how long we’ve known each other, sleeping in the same bed—naked, no less—with someone new can make the actual sleeping part weird. Of course, the entire day has been a complete roller coaster ride, and maybe this is her way of working it out.

I tighten my grip on her and press a kiss to her shoulder, her neck, the back of her head before putting my own head on the pillow—a pillow, I just realized we’re actually sharing—and force my eyes shut. Maybe if I can just trick myself into relaxing, I’ll actually be able to sleep.

Moments later I sigh, my eyes popping open. That was worse—my thoughts took actual form immediately, leaving me with things I’d rather not think about. I’ll have to worry about sleeping later. My body will give out at some point and I’ll collapse into oblivion for a few hours.

Still, I try to match my breathing to Donna’s, taking long, deep breaths in before letting them out slowly. I do feel myself start to relax, though I’m no closer to sleep than I was before.

It’s all too much right now. Too much has happened in too short a time. Not just today, either, though today has been something. The past year and a half have taken their toll, and I haven’t let myself stop to think about it, ot the way I ought to. One thing happened right after the other for a while—Gaza, Leo’s first heart attack, CJ getting the Chief of Staff position, Donna leaving, me leaving, campaigning, winning the nomination, Donna coming back, Toby…

It’s too much. I’m not arrogant enough to I’m the only one dealing with all of this, but I know that I feel like I’m hanging on by just my fingernails right now. I don’t know how I’m going to get through all of this. How are any of us supposed to deal with it right now? What’s the protocol?

Even this thing with Donna feels like it’s going to push me over the edge. I sure as hell don’t want to let her go—she’s the only thing keeping me grounded right now, literally and figuratively, and being stuck awake with her warm body pressed against mine is infinitely better than staring at the ceiling on my own.

I just don’t know what to do about this tomorrow. Is this a relationship? Just sex? Stress relief? I can’t answer those questions right now. In fairness, she hasn’t asked them, but I know they’re coming. There’s no way they’re not. Donna and I have known each other too long for this to be passable as a random hookup or campaign fling. I can’t be a horrible excuse for a human being at times, especially lately, but even I know that she deserves better than that.

But I don’t know that I can give it to her. I’ll be damned if I want someone else giving it to her, though that’s nothing new. 

That does make me a selfish bastard, though. I don’t know if I can give her the things she wants and deserves but can’t handle the thought that there’s someone else out there who might be able to. 

That pretty much sums up our entire relationship. Calling it dysfunctional would be putting it mildly.

I only know one thing for sure—I want this exact moment to last forever. Lying bed next to the woman I…care for very much. She’s so strong and somehow entirely delicate. If I can stop lying to myself for just a few moments, I can admit that this something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time. Not just the sex part; the just being together part. So many times over the last eleven months…this would have helped. It would have made things better. It wouldn’t have mattered how shitty a day was if I knew that she’d be waiting for me at the end of it. Each eighteen hour day would have seemed more manageable if I’d been able to turn over in the morning to see her there and spend just a few minutes together. Hell, there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s what got me through hundreds of long, difficult days at the White House. She kept me focused. She made me work for things. She made me explain things to her mostly I think to make sure I understood them more than her needing an explanation.

I sigh and squeeze her tighter to me. My mind can’t stop going in ridiculous circles. I’m going over the same thing ad nauseam. Donna, the election, Donna, Leo, Donna, us…it won’t stop. I really do need sleep. I need my mind to shut off for a while. I’d get plastered if I thought it would help, but I’m pretty sure it would only exacerbate the situation right now. 

I need to try to not think about the whole picture. I need to focus on just this moment. I have to try to worry about whatever moment I’m in, not what comes after it. That’s what is getting me into trouble; everything is too much, but if I can break everything into bite-sized pieces, I might be able to get through this. One moment at a time. One breath at a time. In this moment, I’m in bed with Donna. That’s there needs to be right now. There isn’t a tomorrow, or a day after that, or a transition, or inauguration, or a new administration or a looming war.  
Sounds so simple. 

“Can’t sleep?” Her voice is so soft I almost miss it, but I feel it rumble in her chest a little, reverberating against my arm. 

“Overrated,” I answer quietly, but she doesn’t laugh the way I expect her to.

Instead, her hand comes up to rest against the one that’s already on her stomach, her fingers sliding through mine. She lifts our joined hands to her mouth, pressing her lips to my palm. She lingers there for a few moments, my heart aching with how familiar it feels. “You’re exhausted, Josh.”

“No more than usual,” I tell her flippantly.

She tucks our hands against her chest, holding on tightly. “A lot more than usual.”

I sigh, briefly reveling in the way we’re completely wrapped in each other. “I know,” I finally answer, pressing my lips to her shoulder again.

“Do you need to de-stress again?” she asks, her voice light and teasing, but it’s definitely laced with concern. I chuckled anyway. 

“The mind is willing, Donna. Very willing. But the flesh is weak.”

Her other hand slides out from under the pillow to caress my arm that’s wrapped across her chest. “Not weak. NOT weak. Just worn out.”

“You’re too kind,” I tell her, desperately wishing I did have the energy to lose myself in her again. I really am too run down to be able to perform, which might be the saddest part of all right now.

“What can I do?” she asks softly, her fingers tightening against mine, and I bite my lip, feeling tears well in my eyes. I don’t want to cry again. She’s the only person I feel comfortable crying in front of, but I just don’t have the energy for it. I shrug, not trusting my voice.

She seems to know anyway. “Oh, Josh,” she whispers, her own voice choked. She twists around in my arms to face me, and through the cracks of light coming in between the curtains, I can see her eyes are wet. She presses her lips to mine, her hands coming up to frame my face. I tighten my arms around her and pull her closer. Our bare skin pressed together is comforting in ways I don’t, or can’t, fully understand.

She pulls away, her lips placing a comforting kiss on first my nose, then my forehead. She lingers there for a few moments, and I feel myself choke up again.

I take deep breaths as I feel her shift a little, her body scooting up mine. She pushes at my shoulder and I slide down a little. Gently, she guides my head to her chest, and I can’ hear the steady thump-thump-thump of her heart beneath my ear. Her arms loop around my shoulders, one of her hands sliding through my hair. Her fingers gently massage my scalp, and I can feel bits of tension evaporating.

I tighten my hold on her, my breathing still labored as I try to keep my emotions in check. Her leg drapes over my hip, pulling me closer. Amazingly, her heartbeat is what does the trick. I focus on its steady rhythm, soothed by the mere fact that it’s beating. Donna’s heart.

My eyes blink slowly, and I feel sleep pulling at me. A few hours of oblivion and this night will be over. Logically, I know it’s no longer night. The night slipped away a few hours ago, and we crawled into bed as the dawn was creeping over the horizon. I know there are only a few hours before the Texas sun is blazing in the sky and dozens of people are looking to me for guidance.  
I feel like I’ve lived a hundred years in the space of twelve hours. Too much has happened for it to feel like it only could have been yesterday that my world was still spinning on its axis.

“I’m here, Josh,” she whispers. “I’m here.”

I take a deep, shuddering breath, and am honestly surprised when it comes out of me in one piece. Somehow, in her Donna way, she’s taking what she can off my shoulders. I know the feeling of the burden being lifted is only temporary, but I’ll take what I can get.

And for now, it’ll be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I realize this is a bit choppy but I’m going to say, given the context of the story, it’s somewhat appropriate. I know it’s long as hell; imagine my shock when I typed this one up from my magic little notebook. I thought it was significantly shorter. Shows how much I know.
> 
> There might be a part two/prequel to this—the story’s been floating around in my mind since I started writing this one, but the rating would be vastly different. In all likelihood, if it gets written, I’ll keep it as a separate entry on one site or another, so that the non-naughty chapter doesn’t get lost in the shuffle. I have another story that I’m going to have to do that with—the first part is wildly explicit, but the second part/prequel is not.
> 
> Aaaannnd…I’ve been on a Latin kick, mostly because of the word Requiem. I speak very little Latin and I can’t translate much of it, so I mostly rely on the accuracy of Google translate. Hopefully, it’s not steering me too wrong. But that’s why you’ll probably see a few Latin-inspired titles coming from me.


End file.
